


all the right moves

by sleeplessmiles



Series: Peggy Carter's Legacy [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Brainwashing Mention, Chess, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Well?’ Fitz asks.</p><p>Jemma’s positive that the grin on her face is as wild as she feels.</p><p>‘Peggy Carter just kicked my arse at chess!’ she gushes.</p><p>--</p><p>A story about mentorship, memories, and Jemma and Peggy developing a friendship, one chess match at a time.</p><p>[Written for Jemma & Peggy Appreciation Week]</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the right moves

**Author's Note:**

> This is set approximately two-ish years in the future. Also, as you can see, it's part of a series, but you don't have to have read anything else in order to understand this.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

If you’d asked SHIELD Academy Cadet Jemma Simmons to explain her connection to Peggy Carter, she would have happily rattled off a list of characteristics (British, incredibly smart, well-versed in the field of science, _aesthetically pleasing_ ) without any further prompting.

If you’d asked her two years ago, she would have likely replied with a tired smile – one that didn’t quite reach her eyes – and gone on to explain the historical significance of the Playground, how fitting it was to be starting SHIELD anew in the very place it began.

Asking her now, however, is a different story.

‘That’s classified,’ she’ll reply, a demure smile on her face and a cheeky glint in her eye.

 

-

-

 

It’s raining rather insistently by the time Jemma arrives at the home, but she’s not too bothered by it. The light sheen reminds her of where she grew up, of her childhood and a place that doesn’t really belong to her anymore, and so it’s comforting in that deeply nostalgic sort of way that transcends description.

Security doesn’t take as long as it normally does, which she considers a blessing; she’s already running much later than she’d like, thanks to a last-minute mishap in the lab. They’re not in DC for very long (they’re to fly out the very next morning, in fact), and she knows she’s allowed far too much time to lapse between visits anyway. It just would have been nice to have everything run smoothly for a change.

Still. At least she’s here now. 

As she finally rounds the last corner to reach the sign-in desk, she feels a smile tug at her lips. The nurse rostered on is Carol.

Jemma loves Carol.

‘Jemma, dear, it’s been such a long time!’ Carol exclaims as she approaches the desk.

She winces, contrite. ‘I know, I’m terribly sorry – ’

Carol waves off her apology, of course, because Carol always does.

‘Oh, stop that nonsense, it wasn’t an accusation. Now, come over here and give me a proper welcome.’

The kindly older woman pulls Jemma in for a warm hug, which Jemma happily reciprocates. After one last tight squeeze, her hands still on Jemma’s shoulders, Carol pushes her back at arm’s length to eye her critically.

She’s apparently not happy with the results.

‘They’re not feeding you well enough.’

‘Carol!’ Jemma chides.

‘Now, see, _that_ was an accusation.’

‘I’m a grown woman, you know. I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.’

‘Hmph.’ She sounds dreadfully unconvinced. ‘We’ll see.’ Passing Jemma the sign-in sheet, she stands back and rests her hands on her hips. ‘How’s work treating you, love?’

Jemma tuts good-naturedly in response. ‘Keeping me busy, as per usual.’

‘Not too busy, I hope,’ Carol warns, and Jemma feels almost guilty at the concerned look in the nurse’s eyes. The most senior nurses who care for Peggy are, of course, aware of who Peggy is, despite the younger staffers not having much idea. Jemma’s even been led to believe that some of the older ones have some sort of affiliation with the old SHIELD themselves. They haven’t been told anything about Jemma, however.

Still. The first time they’d met Jemma, she’d been accompanied by Steve Rogers himself; the second, Melinda May, with whom Peggy had openly discussed Jemma’s combat training. So despite how little they actually knew, there was probably quite a bit that they’d deduced.

(Natasha had once joked that they probably suspected Jemma was the secret lovechild of Peggy and Steve. Despite the biological impossibility of such a thing, not to mention the age discrepancy, Jemma still blushes at the memory.)

So the worry on the older woman’s face most likely comes from a place of terrible, terrible knowledge. Jemma musters the most reassuring smile of which she’s capable, handing back the completed form.

‘Just busy enough, I think.’

Carol still looks unconvinced, but she’s apparently content enough to drop it for now.

‘And how’s your sweet little Scottish lad?’

Jemma finds herself grinning. ‘He’d be furious to discover you refer to him as little, for one thing.’

‘So about the same, then,’ Carol chuckles.

Jemma smiles backs, but she can feel it in the way the cadence of the conversation is dropping off. It’s time to face the inevitable.

‘How is she today?’ she finally asks, bracing herself.

Carol’s face softens. ‘Not having the best day today I’m afraid, dear. She’s a little scattered.’

‘Family visit yesterday?’

She gets a nod in reply. ‘Last night.’

‘Was it Sharon?’ Peggy tended to get particularly mixed up when Jemma visited the day after Sharon did, and vice versa. They should probably work something out between them, really.

‘No, just the boys this time.’ Carol contorts her face into an expression of distaste. ‘They brought the twins, little hellions that they are.’

‘I’m sure she was glad to see them, though,’ Jemma replies absently, looking past Carol’s shoulder to Peggy’s room.

The nurse just watches her knowingly.

‘You’ll have your work cut out for you today, you know.’ 

She knows. Some days are exorbitantly difficult, while others are relatively easy. Today promises to be towards the more difficult end of the scale, but Jemma finds herself gently smiling anyway. She holds up the case in her hands by way of explanation.

‘I _always_ have my work cut out for me.’ 

Carol catches on quickly, chuckling warmly.

‘You’ve got that right, love. Her cross-board action gets more vicious by the day.’

Jemma’s face lights up as they walk over to Peggy’s room. ‘You’ve played with her?’ 

‘I’ve certainly attempted to, and I think that’s about the best any of us mere mortals can hope for.’ She turns to look over her shoulder at Jemma, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘Not you, though.’ 

‘Oh, stop it.’

When Carol raps lightly on the door, Peggy’s staring out the window, a contemplative expression gracing her features.

‘Visitor for you, Mrs. Carter.’

She closes her eyes briefly, longsuffering.

‘Carol, I _promise_  that I will get you to address me as Peggy if it’s with my dying breath.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it, ma’am,’ she replies cheekily.

(Jemma’s certain Carol does this simply to antagonise Peggy by this point, rather than out of some sort of deferential respect. It never fails to get a reaction.)

Peggy’s staring right at Jemma now, her gaze curious and not at all unkind.

‘Do you remember who this is?’ Carol asks outright, tone carefully blank. Peggy raises her eyebrows a little, and Jemma has done this enough times now to know what the woman is seeking.

‘Jemma Simmons,’ she quickly provides.

After a brief pause, Peggy sighs and shakes her head, recognition not quite clicking in her eyes. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’

‘Oh, not at all!’ Jemma’s quick to reassure her. ‘We don’t even know each other very well, really.’

Peggy narrows her eyes at Jemma just slightly, before shooting a glance across at Carol. ‘She’s being overly polite, I can tell. Do we know each other?’

Carol beams back. ‘You’re very well acquainted, the two of you.’

Peggy makes a disapproving tutting sound.

‘Jemma, was it?’ She’s looking at Jemma again. 

‘Yes, that’s right.’ 

‘It’s very sweet of you, but no more sugar coating, are we clear?’

‘Yes ma’am,’ Jemma replies, properly chastened.

‘Excellent.’ She shifts a little, starting to sit upright. ‘What brings you here today, Jemma Simmons?’

‘Actually, I’ve come to play chess,’ Jemma admits, walking across the room to Peggy’s bedside. ‘I hear you’re quite the fiend.’

Peggy seems pleased by the description, if the small smile that creeps onto her face is any indication.

‘Well. I certainly don’t mean to brag, but I have been known to make a few grown men cry.’

‘More than a few, from the stories I’ve heard,’ Jemma corrects with a fond smile. ‘And you most certainly _do_ mean to brag.’

Peggy looks incredibly happy at this development. 

‘My reputation precedes me,’ she replies coyly, and Jemma laughs. She doubts that ‘Peggy Carter: Chess Master’ is the reputation that endures in the minds of the masses, although she has firsthand experience that says it probably should.

The woman is _vicious_.

‘Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it, then,’ Carol decides, still beaming. She’s halfway out the door before she seems to remember something. ‘Oh, goodness me! I nearly forgot. Would either of you ladies be interested in a cup of tea?’

Jemma catches Peggy’s eye, sees the answer clearly written there.

‘We’d love some tea, thank you Carol,’ Jemma replies for both of them. The nurse shoots them one last, pleased smile before bustling out of the room.

‘So,’ Peggy begins, watching Jemma set up the playing board. ‘Jemma Simmons. Are you going to give me a run for my money today?’

‘Well, that all depends.’

‘Upon what?’

Jemma grins. ‘How much money you have.’

Peggy laughs, a shocked, delighted sound, and they’re off.

 

-

-

 

The whole thing starts innocuously enough.

Steve’s hanging around in the lab with Jemma and Fitz, just back from an op he’d worked with their team. Bucky had worked the op too, but he’s in a bit of a foul mood – Steve had apparently been especially reckless, as they’d all just learnt at an incredibly high volume.

Jemma decides to politely enquire about Peggy, in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence left by Bucky’s sudden exit. It has the desired effect on Steve; he immediately perks up.

‘She’s doing great, actually. We played chess the other night.’

Jemma beams, buoyed by the positive implications of the statement. ‘Oh that’s wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful, Fitz?’

Fitz is already nodding. ‘It is, it’s great.’

‘It’s really fantastic! She remembers all of the rules, then?’ 

Steve’s wearing the same amused smile he wears whenever he’s addressed by "Fitzsimmons" as a unit. 

‘Yeah,’ he confirms, eyes warm and pleased. ‘Almost like it was second nature to her.’ 

‘That’s _incredible_ ,’ Jemma reiterates, and she’s running out of adjectives now but she doesn’t think there are any that quite match up to how overjoyed she is at the news.

(She’s seen the toll it takes on Steve whenever Peggy doesn’t remember him. _It doesn’t get any easier_ , he’d told Jemma once, and maybe that’s true, but anything that lessens the burden, however infinitesimally, is a winner in her book.)

He’s shaking his head now, a distantly awed expression on his face.

‘She beat me in every game. Every single one. I was going easy on her at the start, but… She’s still a force to be reckoned with, you know? Even now.’

Jemma makes a small sound of agreement. ‘It enhances her mental acuity, then?’

‘It does,’ he confirms softly. ‘It kept her attention the entire time. It kept… she knew me. The whole time, she knew me.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ she murmurs, looking up at Steve fondly.

He’s eying her thoughtfully. 

‘Say,’ he begins casually, and Jemma narrows her eyes. Maybe she’s not the best at reading people, but she knows that whenever anyone, namely Steve, begins a sentence with “say” in such a nonchalant tone, it spells nothing but trouble.

‘It’s real a pity I have to leave her so soon to go back to New York.’

‘If it’s such a pity, we can just tell Stark to go fuck himself and stay here a bit longer.’ Bucky’s back in the room, apparently. Off Steve’s affronted expression, he jumps to defend himself. 

‘Hey, she swore at her microscope earlier. I assumed that meant we had permission.’

(He’s right. She did.)

‘What I was _saying_ ,’ Steve continues, glaring pointedly at Bucky. He shuts up, raises his hands in surrender. ‘Is that she could use someone dropping by to visit her, maybe play a bit of chess. You know, to help her keep that mental awareness.’

He looks at Jemma significantly.

She blinks.

‘Oh! Well, if you’re looking for adequate competition, you can’t really go past Fitz. As much as it pains me to say it, he really is the best there is.’ She signals at Fitz, who puffs his chest out proudly.

(He’s always feeling a little lacking next to Steve Rogers, the poor thing.)

‘I don’t think “adequate competition” is what he was looking for,’ comes May’s voice from the back of the room. Everyone jumps a little at her sudden entrance – everyone except Bucky, that is, although he still looks faintly impressed. 

Jemma looks at her in question, to which she simply raises both eyebrows. She turns then to Steve, who’s watching Jemma with a small half-smile. Bucky’s leaning back against one of the benches, smirking at her. The look on Fitz’s face is one of fond exasperation.

Actually, that seems to be everyone’s reaction.

Wait.

‘You mean… _me_?’

Steve’s half-smile is a full one, now.

‘She adored you the first time you met, Jemma. You know that. Besides,’ he continues, smile turning cheeky, ‘I hear you play a mean game of chess.’

All Jemma can do in response is gape. He wants her to visit Peggy Carter? More than once? 

She looks around the room at everyone else’s faces once more (and _really_ , they have no right to look so amused), before finally settling on Steve’s earnest expression.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks him quietly. Her underlying question goes unspoken: _are you sure you trust me with her?_

His entire face softens.

‘Never surer, Jemma.’

Which is how she finds herself sitting next to Peggy’s bedside two days later, midway through a game of chess with the legendary woman herself. Not that she’s paying even the slightest bit of attention to the match, however, because Melinda May and Peggy Carter have been arguing for the past ten minutes.

About how to best handle Jemma’s combat training.

It’s genuinely the most compelling thing to which she has ever born witness.

(She might be a little biased, though. Maybe. Possibly.)

‘If I wanted a lecture, I’ve got my mother on speed dial,’ May is saying tiredly.

Peggy openly laughs.

‘Oh, since when have you ever listened to your mother, Melinda?’

‘Never too late to start,’ she deadpans. 

‘Look, I’m aware that it might seem trite – ’

‘ – not exactly the word I’d use – ’

‘ – but you know as well as I do that if we’re to remain vigilant – checkmate.’

Jemma starts, looks down at the board.

Oh.

She’d left her king dreadfully exposed.

Looking back up, Jemma finds Peggy’s amused gaze on her. From her position over by the windowsill, May is smirking as well.

(It occurs to Jemma that she’s possibly a little out of her depth here.)

‘Fancy another game?’ she asks weakly.

 

-

-

 

Fitz is waiting up for them when they arrive back at the base that night, bouncing on his toes slightly with enthusiasm.

‘Well?’ he asks.                                                                                                                          

Jemma’s positive that the grin on her face is as wild as she feels.

‘Peggy Carter just kicked my arse at chess!’ she gushes.

 

-

-

 

Peggy approaches chess much like she approaches many things in life – with brutal strategy and pure calculation. She seems to consider it a point of pride to work out her opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, so as to best manipulate them into defeat. Because of this, she’s incredibly eager to get a read on Jemma as a person, which results in a lot of storytelling from the both of them.

It probably goes without saying, but Jemma’s a pretty big fan of Peggy’s storytelling.

‘You remind me quite a bit of myself, actually,’ Peggy notes today, after Jemma has triumphantly taken the older woman’s last remaining bishop.

‘Is that so?’ Jemma replies calmly, her long-perfected reaction to _Peggy Freaking Carter_ casually equating them.

(Her insides still leap every time.)

Peggy hums in affirmation. ‘Although, I did have a few inches on you. You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you?’ 

Jemma smiles.

‘Stature only counts for so much, Peggy. You of all people should know that,’ she teases.

The elderly woman’s face relaxes into a soft smile; her eyes grow fond and distant. ‘That I do. Did I ever tell you about my Steve?’

It seems today is a Steve day.

‘No, but you’d better not become too distracted by him – I’ve got my eye on your rook there.’

Peggy makes a _tsk_ sound. ‘Cheeky. Just like he was.’

‘He sounds lovely,’ Jemma prompts, trying to keep her in the _now_ instead of the _then_. It happens to some extent with every story she tells, really, but she’s most likely to become saddened and unfocused when reminiscing about Steve.

At Peggy’s lack of response, Jemma tries again.

‘What was he like? Your Steve.’

That seems to get her attention. She scoffs around a smile. ‘He was hardly _my_ Steve.’

But that’s all it takes for her to launch into some tale or another, her entire face lighting up with the memories. The stories she tells are of the Steve that the rest of the world never got to see – the man, rather than the self-sacrificial hero.

The man she loves.

And Jemma hangs off her every word. 

When she eventually trails off, as she always does, Jemma waits a moment before quietly replying with the same thing she says every time. 

‘I think it rather sounds like he _was_ yours, Peggy.’

And every time, without fail, Peggy’s face relaxes into one of the most peaceful, serene expressions Jemma thinks she’s ever seen.

Before she swiftly claims Jemma’s stray knight.

 

-

-

 

Sometimes, on the days when Peggy’s a bit vague on who Jemma is, she dedicates the entirety of their time together trying to get Jemma to confess her ties to SHIELD.

‘Steve’s an awful chess player.’

‘Is he now?’ Jemma notes, doing a poor job of swallowing back a laugh. She carefully places a pawn as bait.

‘It’s not that he’s terrible at the actual game, per se… he’s just terrible at keeping it off his face. It’s all in his eyes, you see.’

‘He _is_ a pretty genuine person.’

Peggy sighs wistfully. ‘He never could lie, the poor boy.’

Jemma knows that’s not completely true. She knows that Steve holds back a lot of his pain, refusing to saddle anyone else with what he considers to be his own personal burden. 

She does agree with Peggy, though, in that he’s about as subtle with it as Atlas.

(But it’s not like Jemma’s much better.)

Peggy deftly ignores her bait, opting instead for a risky play with her left knight. You wouldn’t guess it was risky from the utter calm on her face, however.

It’s truly inspiring. 

‘Not you, though,’ Peggy continues, sitting up in her bed a little. Her gaze is evaluative. ‘You’re genuine, of course, but you don’t look at me guiltily every time you make an aggressive move. You don’t mind defeating an elderly, bedridden woman. You’re competitive. Ambitious.’

Jemma blushes at that. It’s a stupid reaction, really, considering how often Peggy has stated it now, but it still manages to catch her off-guard every time. She’s spent half her life feeling self-conscious about those traits. Hearing the words come out of Peggy Carter’s mouth, voiced as a compliment, framed as things worthy of admiration… It’s just completely and utterly staggering. 

‘Don’t look so worried! It’s a good thing,’ Peggy reassures her, as she always does. Then, with a shrewd, steady gaze and barely a pause, she demands, ‘Who’s your SO?’

‘My significant other?’ Jemma clarifies innocently.

Peggy sits back on her pillows, looking distinctly impressed. 

‘You’re good.’

‘Do you _really_ think you’re going to get me with the quick subject change?’

‘Ah! So you admit there is something to be gotten, do you?’ Peggy gloats, eyes bright. Jemma can feel herself smiling widely.

‘I admit to no such thing.’

(On these days, despite how little Jemma gives away, Peggy always manages to guess that it’s May.)

 

-

-

 

There’s no real way of predicting it, of course, but sometimes Peggy is almost completely lucid when Jemma visits. Those days are absolute gifts.

She can see it on Peggy’s face from the moment she enters the room.

‘Jemma Simmons. Melinda May’s girl.’

‘One of,’ Jemma corrects, cheeks colouring slightly. She’s never quite prepared for Peggy’s sharpness on the better days; it takes her a good half hour to find her footing.

‘Has May got you sparring yet?’ Peggy questions, intent. Jemma feels her stomach drop ever so slightly.

She’s been training in combat for at least a year, now. They’ve spoken about it several times.

(The good days aren’t perfect.)

‘She has, as a matter of fact,’ Jemma replies as cheerfully as she can.

‘She really ought to up the ante on that one,’ the older woman continues. ‘You best make sure she isn’t going easy on you.’

There’s a story there, Jemma’s sure of it, because she’s never known Melinda May to go particularly easy on anyone.

‘I’ll be sure to tell her you said so,’ she promises anyway, carefully arranging all of the pieces on the board between them. Peggy insists on helping, as per usual.

‘How’s your friend?’ she asks after a while, clearly searching for a name. ‘The gifted one.’ 

‘Oh, Skye?’

‘ _Skye_ , that’s right.’ Peggy smiles to herself for a moment, mind wandering. For once, Jemma’s got a fairly sound idea of what the woman is thinking – she’d only met Skye on the one occasion, but she’d then spent the rest of the afternoon regaling Jemma with tales about an old friend of hers. Angie, was her name.

‘How is she?’ Peggy finally repeats. 

‘She’s better every day,’ Jemma answers truthfully.

The older woman hums in understanding. ‘A gentle soul coming to terms with something so innately destructive within her. I imagine May’s had some influence there.’

Jemma smiles gently.

‘She has, yes.’

‘Now,’ Peggy announces, breaking through the softness of the moment. ‘Are you ready to watch and learn how it’s really done?’

‘Only if by “it” you mean losing gracefully,’ Jemma shoots back. Peggy narrows her eyes playfully.

That afternoon, the standard of play is positively _brutal_. Jemma’s almost too afraid to make eye contact with Peggy for most of it.

 

-

-

 

As is so often the case in their line of work, an op goes badly. 

(Actually, Jemma thinks, badly is probably too generous a term for it. _Catastrophically_ feels more fitting, in this instance.)

They find a group of gifted kids, all brainwashed – no matter what they do, it seems the aftershocks of Hydra simply won’t die out – and they aren’t able to save them all.

 _Jemma_ isn’t able to save them all.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting on the floor of the basement, eyes unconsciously mapping the crevices in the old concrete wall, when May finds her. One appraising glance at May’s face tells her it’s been quite a while, though.

‘Fitz was looking for you,’ May says in lieu of a greeting, lowering herself onto the floor next to her. Jemma watches the proceedings numbly.

‘Thank you. For not telling him I’m down here, I mean.’

All she gets in return is silence, but Jemma has learned to understand May’s silences more intricately, now. This is not a cold silence. This is warm and inviting; it’s unassuming, allowing her the dignity of time to find the right words.

As always, she’s deeply grateful for it.

‘I’ll be okay,’ she says softly after a while, because they’re well past the trite charade of Jemma pretending she’s okay when she’s clearly not. And she isn’t, right now. Not when she feels like her heart is in her throat and her lungs won’t work properly and all she can see when she closes her eyes are blank stares and _she couldn’t save them –_

She isn’t okay.

But she will be.

‘Coulson said we can drive across to see Peggy this afternoon,’ May says finally.

Oh, _God_. Jemma feels faintly ill at the thought.

‘I’m…’ She winces. ‘Perhaps now isn’t the best time.’

She hears the telltale sound of one of Melinda May’s defeated sighs.

‘Jemma…’

‘We didn’t win today, May,’ she whispers, swallowing over the lump in her throat. ‘We lost. I’m just so sick of _losing_.’

May says nothing to that, because what can she say? What can anyone say? 

‘I just don’t want her to have to see this,’ she finishes softly.

‘You think Peggy’s never had to make tough calls?’ May asks, and to her eternal credit, it doesn’t sound like a condemnation. She genuinely wants to know what Jemma thinks.

‘I think…’ What does she think? ‘… I think she made the _right_ ones.’

May shifts to regard her more fully.

‘You did _everything_ you could, Jemma.’

‘Maybe,’ she mumbles, but she doesn’t believe that. She doesn’t think she ever will. ‘I just thought we left all this a few years back, that’s all.’

They sit in silence for another long moment. Then:

‘Peggy probably thought she left Hydra back in the 40s, too,’ May says, completely deadpan. Jemma looks across at her, incredulous, but she can feel a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

‘You’re _really_ eager to get me to visit her today.’

May only stares back, face too innocent.

‘I don’t really have a say in the matter, do I.’ Jemma realises. Her mentor stands up by way of reply, offering her hand.

Jemma stares at it for the longest time, still undecided, before finally sighing and grasping it with her own.

 

-

-

 

Peggy takes a single look at the two tired women who walk into her room that afternoon and frowns deeply.

For all of three seconds. 

Then, she takes control.

‘May,’ she orders, authority laced through her tone. ‘I’ll be playing you first.’

May’s face is a mixture of shock and incredulity. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Chess,’ Peggy replies, voice sharper than Jemma’s ever heard it. She quirks a challenging eyebrow. ‘Unless you’re not up to it?’

That’s all it takes to get May to walk purposefully over to the bed, accepting the clear challenge. While May’s busy setting up the chessboard, Peggy meets Jemma’s eyes over her former student’s head and winks.

Jemma breathes out a delighted laugh.

And then, just like that, they’re playing – ever the SO and student, despite the years that have since lapsed. They spend a large proportion of the game in silence, sending each other cool, evaluating looks. Occasionally, May will break the silence by cursing in another language (Mandarin, Jemma thinks), causing Peggy to laugh openly. For her part, Peggy contributes a cheeky remark here and there, which May can’t help but smile at.

May’s eyes flick across to Jemma every so often, not-so-subtly checking to see that she’s okay, but whenever this happens, Peggy follows up with a knowing eyeroll in Jemma’s direction.

And, slowly but surely, Jemma feels the pieces pulling back together in her chest.

 

-

-

 

Asking her now is a different story.

‘That’s classified,’ she’ll reply, a demure smile on her face and a cheeky glint in her eye.

Because there’s simply no other way to explain it.

It’s _theirs._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Also, for anyone interested, you can find me over on tumblr at 'imperfectlychaotic' where I am currently drowning in Peggy and May and Jemma emotions.


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